Snowed In
by Hipster Canada
Summary: A blizzard outside, a power outage, a friendly bet between Gilbert and Matthew. What will they do when they get snowed in?


Matthew glanced out his window as he cooked, absently noting that it had started to snow outside. He didn't think about it, because he had no place to go tonight. No, tonight was a lazy evening at home, and he intended to enjoy himself today. Get some things done around his house that he hadn't had time for recently, and maybe even do some light reading before he went to bed. With the entire evening stretching out before him, Matthew had a good-sized list of things he might do tonight. Of course, all his plans were shattered when a loud series of knocks sounded on the front door, followed quickly by the door opening as a certain German man that Matthew knew decided to let himself inside. "Mein gott, Birdie, have you seen the snow out there? It's practically a blizzard!"

"It's hardly a blizzard, Gilbert," Matthew informed the man, popping his head out of the kitchen to look at him. "And make yourself at home, why don'tcha?"

"Oh, thanks, Birdie, I will," Gilbert grinned, shedding his winter jacket and shaking the snow from his already silvery-white hair. "Mmm," hummed Gilbert approvingly as he sauntered into the kitchen to join Matthew. "The awesome me smells pancakes."

Matthew rolled his eyes and grinned down at the cooktop. "Yeah. And I suppose you'll be wanting some now."

"Of course, Birdie," Gilbert informed him, pulling a beer from the fridge before making himself comfortable in one of the chairs at Matthew's kitchen table. "Your pancakes are the best in the world. How can I resist? Even if it is, like, five-thirty in the evening."

"You can eat pancakes any time of day," Matthew said as he sat a stack of four pancakes and a bottle of maple syrup down in front of his friend. "And you could resist by not dropping in unexpectedly all the time."

"You love when I come to visit you, Matthew," Gilbert said around a mouthful of sticky pancakes.

Matthew said nothing. He couldn't disagree without lying, and he couldn't agree without fueling the other man's already enormous ego. He instead turned his attention back to the stove, whipping up a tall stack of pancakes for himself. In no time, he was seated across from Gilbert at the kitchen table in a comfortable silence, both men choosing to enjoy their meal rather than talk for the moment. When they had finished, Matthew deposited the dirty dishes in the sink. Gilbert was already out of the kitchen and in the living room, and based on the sudden volume level, Matthew could tell he had found the television remote.

Three hours later, Matthew had accomplished next to nothing. Gilbert kept dragging him back from wherever he tried to go, and kept him occupied with a constant commentary on random television shows that he happened to click through, or some sort of remark about something pertaining to absolutely none of the topics at hand. Whatever he said, however random it was, Matthew still found himself laughing.

"Und look at this, Birdie! These stupid shows that your brother talks about all the time. Seriously, what is with these people? They look like they got attacked by a mob of orange markers!"

Matthew laughed, but it was cut short by the noise from outside. A howling gust of wind seemed to rattle the whole house. The lights flickered and the television wavered precariously between on and off. Once the wind died down for a moment, the television went back to its usual state, but the two men watching it were now distracted. Matthew rose from his seat and went to the window. "Holy maple leaves," he murmured softly, observing the scene outside.

"What is it, Birdie?" Gilbert asked, glancing over but not joining him at the window.

"Its really turned into a storm out there," Matthew remarked. "A full-on blizzard."

"I told you, Birdie."

"It wasn't a blizzard when you got here, Gil. I didn't even know it was supposed to snow tonight."

"You live in freaking Canada, Matthew. It snows all the time." Gilbert hauled himself to his feet and looked around for the jacket he'd thrown somewhere earlier. "I should get going, I guess."

"No."

Gilbert blinked at Matthew. He'd never heard the man sound so assertive before. "What?"

"You're not going anywhere _now_."

"But if it's getting bad-"

"It already _is_ bad, Gilbert. It isn't safe for you to drive home in that. You'll just have to stay here until it dies down." Matthew crossed his arms over his chest. The lights flickered again, and Gilbert glanced up before returning his gaze to Matthew.

"You sure, Birdie?"

"I'm sure."

"All right then." Gilbert plopped back down on the sofa and grabbed the remote. "Guess we'll just watch some more TV." The words were no sooner out of his mouth than the lights went out, the television died, and the only sound in the house was the wind against the siding. "Or not."

Matthew laughed softly and moved carefully into the kitchen. He pulled open a drawer and felt around for a flashlight. Once his hand tightened around it, he flicked it on and the single, white beam helped illuminate the room. He used his new light to search through the drawer and find some matches. Then he rejoined Gilbert in the living room.

"Does this happen a lot, Birdie?" Gilbert asked, thinking the man seemed so calm and very prepared.

"No, but it has happened before. I like to be prepared in case of emergency." Matthew knelt down in front of the fireplace and removed the screen from in front of it. Striking a match against the mantle, he managed to start a fire going. Once it had caught and started to burn brightly, he replaced the screen and moved on, pulling a few candles out of a cupboard and lighting them. Pretty soon the whole living room was covered in a soft, yellow glow. Once the room was lit, Matthew came back and sat beside Gilbert, who had watched the whole thing with a slightly impressed air.

"I used to think you were kind of pansy for having so many candles, Birdie," Gilbert remarked as the Canadian sat down beside him once again. "Guess I can't think that anymore."

"Nope," Matthew agreed, a satisfied smirk on his face. "So now we just get to talk, eh?"

Gilbert grinned cheekily. "I could think of a few other things we could do..."

"No," Matthew said.

"Aw, Birdie, I didn't even-"

"You didn't need to."

"Aren't you gonna let me finish _one_ sentan-"

"Not if you're going keep your mind in the gutter all night, Gil."

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "What if-"

"Then maybe I'll let you finish a sentence."

"You need to stop interrupting me, Birdie. I'm not as predictable as you think."

"Fine, what were you going to say, Gilbert?"

"I was _going_ to say 'what if you and I make a deal?'"

Matthew eyed the German suspiciously. "What kind of deal?"

"If you use the word 'maple' at any point while we're snowed in, you have to give me a kiss."

Matthew's cheeks went red in the firelight. "Well, what's _your_ end of the bargain, eh?"

"You pick."

Matthew thought for a moment. "If you use the word 'awesome' to refer to _anything_, you have to... do the dishes before you go home."

Gilbert didn't hesitate for a second. He knew how easy it would be to get Matthew to use the word maple. He used the word practically every two seconds. Gilbert was much more restrained in his use of the word maple.. "All right, it's a deal." He stuck out his hand toward Matthew, and they shook on it. A few seconds of silence fell, one man desperately reminding himself not to use the forbidden word and the other thinking of some way to get the other to say it.

"So last night was Antonio's birthday, right?"

"Yeah! Francis and I took him out drinking to celebrate."

"Did you have fun?"

"Of course! The awwwwww-" Gilbert's eyes went wide at his almost slip up. Damn. He was sure Birdie would have been first to slip. "I always have fun with Francis and Toni," he said quickly before raising his beer bottle to his lips again.

Matthew smirked at the obvious mistake, but said nothing. "That's good."

Gilbert said nothing, still recovering with his risky brush with dish duty.

"You're not going to talk to me for the rest of the night, are you?"

"Probably not."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "That's no fun."

"Well dishes are _not_ awesome, Matthew!" Gilbert burst out. Then his eyes widened, his hand clamped over his mouth, and he collapsed back into the couch with a groan. "Verdaaaaaaaaamnt."

"Oh come on, Gilbert. It's not like there are that many dishes, eh?"

"Birdie... Birdie, are you really going to torture me with this totally unawesome punishment?" Gilbert figured now that he had said it, he could go back to using it at his regular frequency.

"Yes," Matthew said simply. He wasn't going to pity Gilbert over a handful of dishes in a sinkful of soapy water.

"Birdie, you're so cruel to me."

"You'll get over it and live. You should go do them now, since there's nothing else to do."

Gilbert moaned a few times, but got off his butt and grabbed a big candle off the sidetable. "I'll do your damn dishes, Birdie," he muttered.

"Make sure you don't leave any maple syrup on them, eh?" Matthew called after him.

Gilbert's head reappeared in the doorway of the kitchen, an evil grin on his face. "Birdie~" Gilbert fairly sang. "You saaaaaid iiiiit."

"You said 'awesome'," Matthew defended.

"Yeah, but if you remember, I said if you said maple at _any_ time tonight... You have to give me a kiss now, Birdie." Gilbert's grin widened on his face. "I think I will claim it now before my unawesome encounter with dishes."

"Nope," Matthew said, shaking his head and crossing his arms over his chest. "You lost first, you do dishes first."

Gilbert sighed and stomped a foot like a child throwing a tantrum, but he turned and disappeared back into the dim kitchen. "This had better be a _really_ good kiss, Birdie!"

It was less than fifteen minutes later when Gilbert rejoined Matthew in the living room. "There. Your dishes are washed, dried, and put away. Happy now?"

Matthew smiled. "Yes. Thank you. Now was that so bad?"

"Don't ask."

"Don't be Mr. Grumpy Gil..."

"You'd better kiss me before I am too far gone, Birdie..." Gilbert's face lit up in hopeful anticipation.

Matthew rolled his eyes and pecked Gilbert on the cheek quickly. Gilbert immediately turned a pouting face to the blonde. "That was not it."

"You said a kiss."

"I meant a real kiss, Birdie."

Matthew sighed. "Why?"

"Why?" Gilbert's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Why?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Be-because... Be_cause_!"

"That's not an answer."

Gilbert spluttered for a few moments, trying to produce a coherent answer. Finally, he just stopped, looked at Matthew, and tilted his head to one side. "Because... I love you, Matthew."

Matthew's eyes went wide and his cheeks colored with a blush. He couldn't look away from Gilbert's earnest expression in the soft candle light, the fire in the fireplace flickering behind him. "Oh."

"Of course. You really didn't know?"

Matthew shook his head. Gilbert smirked. "The pancakes at four am and the unexpected visits weren't a tip off?"

Again, Matthew shook his head.

"The flowers I brought you last week?"

Another shake of the head.

"The flirting and the ass-slapping?"

Matthew blushed profusely, but shook his head again. Gilbert chuckled. "Well, then no wonder I kept striking out."

"Maybe if you had been this up front to start with, I would have gotten the hint a little sooner." Matthew's voice was barely audible, even in the silent house.

"I didn't want to scare you away, Birdie. I know I'm awesome, but... sometimes I'm a little too awesome."

"No," Matthew said softly, but a little louder than before. "No, you're perfect. And you haven't scared me away." Slowly, carefully, deliberately, Matthew leaned forward and ghosted his lips against Gilbert's. Gilbert was slightly shocked by the initial touch, but his attraction to the Canadian was too strong not to react. He pulled Matthew closer and the kiss deepened. Both parties fully enjoyed this for several minutes before Gilbert pulled back slightly. "Hey Birdie?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really glad I got snowed in at your house."

"Me too."

"I love you, Matthew."

"I love you, too, Gilbert."


End file.
